


Crossroads

by menel



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Betrayal, Break Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Confessions, M/M, Rebound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22437865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: When Matt's love affair with a Greek heiress goes up in flames, his newest bodyguard, an ex-marine by the name of Frank Castle, catches his attention.Frank is trying to pick up the pieces of his life. He thinks he knows Matt Murdock's type. He's completely mistaken.Written for the 2020 Fratt Week Day 6 prompt, 'blue.'
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 36
Kudos: 202
Collections: Fratt Week





	Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes its premise from What If Vol. 2 #73 "What If . . . The Kingpin Adopted Daredevil?" (1995), but then goes its own way. No knowledge of the comic is necessary to understand the story.

It was the third time this week. Truthfully, Frank didn’t mind. He liked the club. It was a different scene. Other kids of crime bosses would’ve preferred the strobing lights and techno music and designer drugs. Not Matthew Murdock. No. He liked the quiet.

But the jazz club they were in was definitely a new thing, a recent thing. Frank suspected that it had a lot to do with his newest charge’s spectacular break-up with the Greek heiress. What was her name? Elektra something. Like a chip. Cheerios. Nachos. _Natchios. What the hell kind of name was that anyway?_ Frank thought. Elektra Natchios. You could have any name you wanted and it wouldn’t matter, if you looked like Elektra and were born into all the advantages of her family’s wealth. 

Elektra Natchios was a vision. Smart. Seductive. Cunning. Trained, too. Frank had never confirmed that last detail personally, but there was something about the way Elektra moved and her lightning quick reflexes that told Frank she knew how to fight. That she was _good_ at it. That she might even be lethal. He knew enough not to mess with Elektra Natchios.

Elektra Natchios and Matthew Murdock had been the toast of the city during their three-month romance. They’d been plastered across Page Six every week. They’d attended all the big parties, the galas, the auctions, and the charity balls. They were the best sort of free publicity for Wilson Fisk’s empire and the Natchios conglomerate. And if they got married? Hell, that would’ve been the merger to end all mergers. All the big players in the city – legal and illegal – would’ve had to bow down to them.

Then one day it had all ended. Boom. Everything came to a crashing halt. Elektra was on a plane to Greece and Matthew Murdock was in a jazz club, drowning his sorrows in two hundred-dollar scotch and the blues.

Frank was new on Murdock’s detail. He didn’t think he’d wind up on bodyguard duty after his second tour of Afghanistan, but the pay was good, the job easy. PMCs made more money, but Frank didn’t want to get shipped out again. He was tired of war and the senseless fighting. He couldn’t remember anymore why he’d signed up for the marines, except that he was good at it. He was good at killing, probably the only thing he was really good at. He’d come home to a broken marriage and kids who barely knew him. Maria had moved back to the mid-west to be with her mother. She’d brought Lisa and Frank Jr. with her. Frank had thought about following, begging Maria for a second chance. Then he’d thought about it some more. He’d been a bad husband and a bad father, putting the war and the marines ahead of his family. What could he really offer them anyway? Wasn’t this a better option? A fresh start? For all of them? And maybe after a couple of years when Frank was settled and they were settled, maybe they could all meet and have a meal or a cup of coffee or something. Maybe then, Frank would be in a better place, and maybe Maria would be willing to forgive.

So, Frank stayed in the city in a tiny studio unit that was still bigger than his shoebox at the barracks. Billy Russo had hooked him up with a security firm, though Russo had insisted that Frank should come work for him. Bill had gotten out of the war sooner than Frank, had made a real life for himself, was a self-made success story. Frank admired that. He wasn’t ever going to run his own company like Bill, but he wanted to make his way in the world on his own merits. He didn’t want Bill’s charity, no matter how close they’d been in the core. A reference and a recommendation were the most Frank would accept from Bill, and they were enough to land him a cushy bodyguard job.

He was part of the security detail to Wilson Fisk’s adopted son, Matthew Murdock. From everything Frank had heard, Murdock was something of a prodigy. Brilliant at everything he did. Handsome. Charming. Always had a gorgeous woman on his arm. Pity the kid was blind. 

“Blind?” Felix had snorted.

Felix was another bodyguard on Murdock’s detail. He’d been on the detail the longest. Frank had joined the team at the end of the first month of Murdock’s whirlwind romance with Elektra. 

“What?” Frank had questioned. “You sayin’ he’s not blind?” 

“Oh, he’s blind all right,” Felix confirmed. “But that don’t make ‘im fuckin’ helpless. You remember that Frank. Don’t ever let that kid play the wounded duck card on you.”

Frank had never forgotten Felix’s strange warning. He hadn’t known what to make of it at first, but the army had trained him to be observant. Felix was right. The kid wasn’t defenseless. Just like Frank could tell that Elektra had been trained by the way she moved and carried herself, those same physical tells began to manifest in Matthew Murdock. The day Frank learned that the white cane Murdock carried was actually a sword in disguise, Frank didn’t bat an eyelash when Murdock sliced off the finger of another crime boss who’d dared to challenge Wilson Fisk.

Murdock had turned to Wesley and said, “Present that to Wilson as a token of apology, and a _promise_ from Mr. Owlsley that he will never lie to Wilson again.” 

Wesley had picked up the severed digit and delicately wrapped it in a white handkerchief. “Of course, sir,” he’d said deferentially. 

That was the day Frank Castle learned that Matthew Murdock was someone you didn’t fuck with.

* * *

Murdock sat at the same table in the jazz club. It was towards the back, on the right side. From Frank’s perspective, it strategically had the best vantage point in the room, but Frank didn’t think that was the reason Murdock liked the table since Murdock couldn’t see. Maybe it had the best acoustics or something. 

“You like jazz, Frank?” Murdock suddenly said. 

Frank started, glad that Murdock couldn’t see his reaction. In three months, this was the first time Murdock had spoken to him directly. He wasn’t even sure that Murdock knew his name. 

Frank cleared his throat. “It’s all right,” he said. 

“Heard you listening to Ella the other day,” Murdock went on conversationally, as though they chatted regularly. “‘Black Coffee.’ That’s a great song. One of my favorites.”

Frank’s brow furrowed. He remembered that. But how in the hell could Murdock have _heard_ him listening to Ella Fitzgerald? He’d been listening to Ella during his coffee break. Murdock hadn’t been anywhere near him. He didn’t know what to say in response, so he didn’t say anything. It didn’t matter because Murdock kept talking. 

“What do you think of this singer?”

“Pretty,” Frank said, before he realized the inanity of the statement given who he was speaking to. He saw how Murdock’s lips quirked upwards in a half-smirk. The little shit was laughing at him. “What I mean is,” Frank clarified. “Her looks match her voice.” 

“How’s that?”

“She’s got old-world Hollywood glamor about her,” Frank went on. “She’s styled like jazz singers from the 40s and 50s. The hair. The gown. The satin gloves. She sounds like those old singers too. Rich. Sultry. Melancholic. Real bedroom voice.” 

Murdock had grown quiet as he listened to Frank. “You like her,” he translated. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“You like this club.” 

“Don’t think my opinion on the club matters.” 

“But you _like_ this club.” 

“I do.” 

“Good.”

Murdock seemed pleased, but Frank couldn’t fathom why. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that his opinion on the club didn’t matter. It didn’t. Murdock could’ve gotten his kicks at female mud wrestling and Frank would’ve been standing on his right because that’s what he was paid to do. The fact that his tastes and Murdock’s tastes aligned on a jazz club was just a bonus. 

The set ended and the patrons of the club broke into polite applause. 

“That’s our cue,” Murdock said, standing up.

Frank spoke into his radio, alerting the rest of the detail that they were coming out and that the car should be ready. Murdock’s white cane (that Frank now knew was a sword) flashed in front of him, and Frank followed his charge out of the club.

* * *

The next time they were at the club, Murdock pulled out a seat and motioned that Frank should join him. Frank hesitated before stiffly taking the seat next to Murdock. 

“What do you drink, Frank?” 

“Don’t drink when I’m on duty.”

“Okay,” Murdock said, nonplussed. “You can just _pretend_ to drink.” He ordered his usual two-hundred-dollar scotch and placed one of the tumblers in front of Frank. 

They didn’t speak after that.

Frank concentrated on the music (it was the same singer that they both liked) and not on the man beside him. At least, he tried not to. He was continuously aware of their surroundings – that was part of the job. But sitting this close to Murdock, instead of standing somewhere behind him made it easy to take in his charge’s profile under the guise of duty as his eyes swept the room. Matthew Murdock was handsome. There was no way around it. But his kind of handsomeness oozed danger, which probably made him even more attractive. Frank put those thoughts away. They were a needless distraction. 

Halfway through the second set, Murdock suddenly said, “Elektra wasn’t fond of jazz.”

Frank wasn’t sure if he was expected to reply, even if several responses had already popped into his head. He’d decided not to say anything when Murdock continued. 

“This is a good way to get her out of my mind.” 

“Don’t know how well that’s workin’ if you’re still talking about her.” Frank instantly regretted the words as soon as he’d said them, but Murdock didn’t take offense. He chuckled.

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “Broken hearts aren’t something you recover from easily,” Murdock went on. Then he tilted his head in Frank’s direction. “How about you, Frank? Have you had your heart broken?” 

Frank’s skin prickled at the richness of Murdock’s voice. The kid sounded like sin. “Don’t you have a file?” he said, a little brusquely. 

“Maybe I just like hearing the sound of your voice.”

Frank knew he was gaping, even if Murdock couldn’t see his expression. He shut his mouth quickly, and looked away. “Don’t know about having my heart broken,” he said, keeping his gaze on the singer. “But I think I broke hers.” 

“A heartbreaker,” Murdock mused. He sounded thoughtful. “Some say that’s better than having your heart broken.” 

“Sucks either way,” Frank said. He didn’t like this conversation and his gaze dropped to his tumbler of two-hundred-dollar scotch. Maybe just a sip . . .

Luckily for Frank, the singer finished her second set. Murdock always left after the second set, and Frank hoped that he wouldn’t break his routine tonight. Thankfully, Murdock didn’t. He downed the rest of his scotch and then stood up, Frank automatically moving with him. As usual, Frank contacted the rest of the detail and then they were headed outside.

* * *

The next trip to the club followed the same routine: Murdock sat down. He gestured for Frank to join him. Frank did. Murdock ordered two tumblers of expensive scotch and placed one glass in front of Frank. Murdock drank. Frank didn’t. They listened to music. They didn’t talk. Near the end of the second set, Murdock would strike up a conversation. Frank would grudgingly participate. The second set ended. They left.

This went on for three weeks. In between trips to the club, Frank began to take on more responsibility in Murdock’s security detail. He didn’t ask for it; it was simply given to him. Under whose orders, Frank wasn’t certain. Felix began to side-eye him. By the end of the third week, Frank had risen to prominence and was the point person for Matthew Murdock’s security. He spent the most time with Murdock now, and it was apparent to the other members of the detail that Frank had become Murdock’s most trusted bodyguard in a relatively short space of time. Some people grumbled at it. Frank wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve Murdock’s favor either, but since it came with a higher paygrade, he took the responsibility seriously. 

One day, during his coffee break, Felix approached him. 

“Be careful with the kid,” Felix said, without any preamble. 

Frank glanced at him. “That’s the job,” he said, refilling his mug. 

“I ain’t talking about his security,” Felix snapped. “Just a friendly warning, Frank. You’ve caught the kid’s attention, and that ain’t never a good thing. He wants something from you. The sooner you find out what it is, the sooner you can give it to him or you can cut ties. There ain’t no halfway in this world. You’re either all-in or you’re all-out. And generally speakin’, you don’t say ‘no’ to folks like Wilson Fisk or Matthew Murdock. Lucky for you, Murdock’s more forgivin’ than his old man. Being a lawyer and all, he’s got a broader sense of justice.” 

That’s what Matthew Murdock was, one of the most high-profile lawyers in the city – Wilson Fisk’s personal lawyer. For Fisk’s legitimate businesses, at least. Frank had heard the stories. Murdock had wanted to go to Columbia, had even earned a scholarship. But Fisk had convinced him that law couldn’t be contained in a classroom in a single country. The law was the _world_. He’d paid for Murdock’s private tutors and the world was Murdock’s classroom. According to the other guards, Murdock still traveled a lot but Frank wouldn’t have been able to guess. Since he’d joined the detail it had been _Elektra, Elektra, Elektra_ , and now it was post-Elektra. Which was fine with Frank. Staying in the city suited him. 

Felix left the break room, Frank’s gaze following him. Felix had a bit of a theatrical streak in him, but Frank heeded his warning. Felix had verbalized something that Frank had been puzzling over himself. He didn’t know what Matthew Murdock wanted from him, but his boss’s son definitely wanted something.

* * *

One day, Frank heard angry voices talking in Murdock’s penthouse. It’d surprised him. He’d been certain that Murdock was alone. No one had come up the elevator. Frank would’ve known. Equally surprising was hearing Murdock raise his voice. Murdock didn’t yell. His disapproval came across through silence, which Frank somehow thought was worse. He knocked and waited for Murdock’s reply. 

“Come in!” 

Frank opened the door to find Murdock standing in the center of his living room . . . completely alone. He was wearing one of his elegant sharp suits – steel gray – the lethal cane resting between his hands. 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Frank said, striding inside. 

“You’re not interrupting,” Murdock replied. 

Frank did a quick sweep of the room. Someone was here. Maybe they were hiding in one of the other rooms. There sure as hell were enough places for them to hide. 

“Thought I heard you talking to someone,” Frank said, approaching the other man.

“You were mistaken.” 

It was the coldest tone Murdock had ever used with Frank. And a blatant lie. _Interesting_. 

“The file you asked for,” Frank said, handing over a security assessment that had been transcribed in Braille with accompanying audio data where necessary. 

“Have you thought about simply dictating everything yourself?” Murdock suggested. “You know how much I enjoy hearing your voice.”

Frank kept his body perfectly calm. _The little shit was flirting with him again_. He didn’t know how, but Murdock could read his responses. Not just _his_. Murdock could read everybody around him. It was uncanny. Frank used to react more obviously to the flirting. It embarrassed him, but it was also flattering. Was this what Murdock wanted from him? Maybe. But Murdock didn’t seem the type to go for clichés, and sleeping with your bodyguard was pretty cliché. The only thing more cliché would be falling in love. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. The thought almost made Frank smile. But sleeping with Murdock? It had its appeal. Still, Frank was a sensible man. He wasn’t going to lose his job because his hormones had decided he was a teenager again. 

“Thought about it,” Frank said, calmly. “But a hard copy has its uses.” 

“Indeed,” Murdock agreed. His head was bent in that thoughtful pose of his. He held up the file. “Thanks for this. I’ll be staying in tonight. You can tell the guys to take it easy.” 

“Will do,” Frank replied.

He left the room, an uneasy feeling in his gut. He couldn’t read people the way Murdock could, but somehow he got the impression that Murdock had just _lied_ to him. Why?

* * *

Frank felt antsy the rest of the night. Murdock wouldn’t allow cameras anywhere inside, but the exterior had sufficient surveillance. He walked the perimeter of the penthouse. The place had an expansive patio and an outdoor pool. It was a good location to throw lavish parties, especially in the evening. Frank had watched over a few of those. All Elektra’s doing, of course. Murdock was not the partying type.

Now Frank was walking the length of the pool. Murdock’s bedroom was the only part of the penthouse whose perimeter was separated from the rest. The room had its own balcony where Murdock sometimes took his breakfast, but it was isolated and there was no external surveillance. If Frank leaned over the edge of the patio railing, he could just see the edge of Murdock’s balcony. Which explains why he saw the moment a man dressed in black and wearing a mask leaped off the side of the balcony and begin his descent down the darkened building like some godammed acrobat. Frank’s radio was instantly at his lips, but something stayed his hand. As he continued to watch the stranger gracefully make his way down the building, some kind of grappler shot out of the stranger’s hand. It connected with the next building and then the stranger effortlessly swung himself across, landing on a lower rooftop. Frank noted how the man tucked his body into a ball to break his fall, rolling over once before he was on his feet and racing across the rooftop, further away from Frank’s sight. 

Frank sighed, putting away his radio without calling for an alert. Murdock wasn’t in any danger. In fact, Frank was certain he’d just seen his charge leap off his balcony and scale a building like Spider-Man before swinging across to the opposite building (like Spider-Man) and disappearing from his sight. At this point, Frank wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Matthew Murdock was Spider-Man (it would explain _a lot_ ), except Spider-Man wasn’t the type to slice off people’s fingers with swords. That, and Murdock hadn’t been wearing the Spider-Man costume. So, he probably wasn’t Spider-Man.

Frank removed his radio and ear piece, slipping the items into the pocket of his jacket. He was going to take the rest of the night off, after he checked some details. He remembered the security assessment Murdock had asked for. On its own, the request had been a little strange. Frank had thought that Murdock was keeping an eye on a potentially wayward Fisk business partner (like he’d done with Leland Owlsley), but now the request made more sense. Frank knew where to find his wayward charge, because Murdock had asked him to scope out the security in a particular area for Murdock’s private use. That’s where Frank was headed now, to the docks, and a well-known drop-off and pick-up point controlled by the Yakuza.

* * *

“Who the hell is this?” 

The sword’s metal gleamed in the moonlight, two quick for Frank to react, but not too quick for Murdock who’d drawn his own sword and had blocked the blade that had been aimed at Frank’s throat. 

“He’s with me.” 

“With you?” The other voice was derisive in it scorn. “This isn’t a slumber party, Matty.” 

_Matty?_ Frank thought. 

“You were supposed to come alone.” 

“I did,” Murdock testily replied.

Frank couldn’t recall Murdock showing so much emotion in his voice. It reinforced Frank’s belief that the stranger Murdock had been arguing with in his penthouse before Frank had shown up was the same man who’d just tried to slit his throat. Murdock kept interesting company. 

“Frank’s skilled,” Murdock went on, speaking as if Frank wasn’t there. “Since he’s here, he can help us.” 

“He better not fuck this up,” the other man said darkly, finally lowering his blade. “If he gets in the way tonight, it’s on you.” 

“No, Stick,” Murdock said, the quiet fury in his voice frightening. “If tonight is a fuck-up, then it’s on _you_. After tonight, you and me? We’re done.”

Murdock seemed to recoil into the shadows then; Frank felt a hand on his arm. 

“With me,” Murdock told him. 

Frank fell into step beside the other man, all his military training coming to the fore. Murdock was on some kind of mission and Frank had just been recruited onto his team. That made Murdock his CO. 

“I don’t have time to explain what’s going on,” Murdock began. “But you’ve walked into a helluva situation. The old man and I are here to stop a dangerous weapon from falling into the wrong hands.” 

“You mean, the Yakuza.”

Murdock sighed. “The Yakuza are more than what you think they are,” he said, too enigmatically for Frank’s liking. Murdock’s smile sliced sharply in the moonlight, his voice changing when he spoke again. “It would be a shame if you got killed, Frank. Time to show off what Uncle Sam taught you. Everyone here is an enemy. Shoot to kill. And remember, you’re not really killing someone if they’re already dead.” 

_What?_

“I’ll cover the rear,” Murdock went on. “Stick will take the front. Make sure no one gets past either of us.”

Frank liked the simple plans best. There was elegance in simplicity. There was also elegance in the way Murdock fought. Frank had had his suspicions before, but this? This so far exceeded what he’d even considered was in the realm of possibility. Who had taught this kid how to fight? Then, his gaze would drift over to the ‘old man’ and Frank knew he had his answer. They were ninjas, both of them. And they were fighting _more ninjas_. Frank had no idea what the fuck was going on. He’d walked into some kind of gang war, only he didn’t think Murdock was representing Wilson Fisk’s interests tonight.

Frank kept his scope on his charge, grateful that he was always prepared. His private car was a veritable arsenal, and that was the car he’d used to drive to the docks. Frank followed Murdock’s advice. Head shots were the most efficient kill shots. So, that’s what he did, picking off whatever attacker tried to sneak up on Murdock, always making sure the odds were evened out for his charge.

Murdock and his companion dismantled the Yakuza. Hit them hard; caught them by surprise. But when they reached the large crate that Frank assumed contained the ‘dangerous weapon’ that was their goal, Frank was surprised when Murdock turned away, not even bothering to watch his companion open the crate. He spoke a few words to the old man . . . and then he was gone. 

“How the fuck does he do that?” Frank muttered, standing up from his perch. He sighed, packed his gear and headed back to his car.

Frank wasn’t surprised to find Murdock leaning against the passenger side door of his car, even though he hadn’t told Murdock where he’d parked or what car he’d even brought. Murdock had finally removed the black mask. 

“Can you drive, too?” Frank asked dryly, as he walked to the driver’s side and unlocked the vehicle.

“I know the mechanics of driving,” Murdock answered, opening his door and getting inside. “But if you’re asking whether I _should_ drive . . . well, that’s a whole different question.” 

Frank started the engine, giving his companion a sideways glance as he did so. He was starting to think that there wasn’t anything Murdock couldn’t do.

* * *

The drive back to Murdock’s penthouse was quiet. Frank’s mind was a tangle of questions that needed answering, and only the man beside him seemed to have those answers. For his part, Murdock seemed subdued. He hadn’t spoken since he’d answered Frank’s question about driving. As Frank neared the building, he finally broke the silence. 

“Are you just gonna walk in the front door when nobody saw you leave or . . .” 

Frank let the question hang in the air. 

_. . . or are you going to Spider-Man your way back to the penthouse?_

“Might as well walk in through the front door,” Murdock replied. He flashed Frank a smile that reminded Frank of the Murdock that he thought he knew. “Besides,” he added. “It’s not like I left without protection.”

The security detail at the penthouse was stunned to see Murdock and Frank step out of the elevator that led exclusively to the penthouse. Murdock’s sword, once again converted into a white cane, tapped in front of him as he walked. Frank waved away any potential questions. Technically, he was Murdock’s head of security. Whatever report was filed was his responsibility.

Murdock left the front door open for him, and Frank followed him inside. Frank had never had alcohol in Murdock’s presence before; he didn’t drink on the job, period. But after the night they’d just had, he was willing to make an exception. He’d expected Murdock to go to the bar and offer his high-priced scotch, but instead the other man turned around and said: 

“Wanna fuck?” 

_What?!_

“What?” Frank stuttered. 

“I’ve got too much excess adrenaline from the fight,” Murdock explained. “I need to burn it off. We can fight or we can fuck. What do you prefer?” 

“ _Those_ are the only options?”

“They’re the _best_ options,” Murdock corrected. “For some people, fighting and fucking are practically the same thing.” 

Murdock shrugged, pulling off the long black top that he was wearing. Frank felt his boxers grow a little tight. Murdock smirked. 

“Fuck, then?”

* * *

Frank wondered if the last few weeks had been building to this: a fuck or a fight. Felix’s warning came back to him as Murdock pushed him onto one of the living room’s leather sofas. _The sooner you find out what he wants, the sooner you can give it to him or you can cut ties. There ain’t no halfway in this world_. Felix had presented it as a black-and-white scenario, as if they didn’t live in shades of gray just by protecting the Kingpin and his adopted son. Some would say that they already fell in the ‘black.’

Frank was having his own shades of gray moment right now as Murdock unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He’d settled comfortably in between Frank’s spread legs. There had been no kissing, no touching, no petting. It was straight to the main course. It was hard to complain though, when Murdock spit into his palm, fisted the base of Frank’s cock and suckled the tip. Frank rested his head against the sofa, letting the sensations wash over him. No one could mistake Murdock for an altar boy, not when he could do _that_ with his tongue.

Murdock leaned into Frank’s body, bracing his arms on Frank’s thighs as he went to work on Frank’s cock. Frank wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch or to encourage, no matter how badly he wanted to run his fingers through Murdock’s hair. So, he kept his hands by his sides, fingers gripping the soft leather beneath. Just when he thought he was going to come . . . Murdock pulled off.

Frank opened his eyes, a little dazed, to see Murdock standing before him, one hand outstretched. It took him a moment to realize that Murdock was waiting for him to grasp his hand. Frank did, and Murdock pulled him to his feet. 

“Did you think it would be so quick?” Murdock said, his smile slicing sharply. Frank thought of the black mask that Murdock had worn earlier, how that smile had looked beneath the mask. He’d always thought of Murdock as sin, but seeing him fight tonight, he realized that Murdock was the devil. 

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Frank said honestly. “I think my brain stopped working after I began shooting your undead ninjas.”

Because Frank had known something was off after he had ‘killed’ the first man. The docks should’ve been a bloodbath with the way Murdock and his companion had sliced their way through that ninja army. But amid all the severed bodies and broken bones, Frank couldn’t recall a single drop of blood being spilled, and that included all the heads he’d blown off. None of that was natural. 

Murdock chuckled. “I knew you were quick,” he said, tugging Frank in the direction of the bedroom. “I switch,” he went on, effortlessly changing the subject. “Do you have a preference? Because if you don’t, I’d really like to fuck you tonight.”

 _It shouldn’t have been so hot_ , Frank thought, listening to Murdock as though he were strategizing. Equating sex with fighting had been the right analogy to use. Frank couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so turned on. 

“You can fuck me,” he said, finally finding his voice. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d bottomed for anyone either. Not for years. Not since before the marines, before he married Maria. 

But that night, Frank found himself on his hands and knees in the center of Murdock’s large bed. Murdock took the time to prep him. The slick invading fingers felt strange, but not unwelcome. He didn’t know what to expect from Murdock’s cock (he hadn’t seen Murdock in all his glory), but he was willing to bet that being stretched by a few fingers wouldn’t be much of a comparison. 

“Ready?” Murdock eventually asked. 

Frank blew out a breath. “Yeah,” he said, wondering if his body told Murdock otherwise. 

Frank guessed not as he felt Murdock shift behind him, one hand on Frank’s hip and then a pressure at his entrance. Frank tried not to tense as Murdock pushed inside, but it was an involuntary reaction. Murdock wasn’t uncomfortably wide but he was long, and Frank felt every inch of him. Murdock stilled when he bottomed out, shifting his other hand so that he was holding Frank’s hips securely. The first few thrusts were shallow. Experimental. Murdock was feeling out what worked, what felt good to both of them. The first _real_ thrust got a grunt out of Frank and a jolt of pleasure that traveled up his spine. 

“Like that?” Murdock asked. 

“Yeah,” Frank breathed.

God _damn_ , Frank thought as Murdock began to fuck into him. Maybe there really wasn’t anything Murdock wasn’t good at. The pace Murdock set was just right, hard but not bruising. And he hit Frank’s spot. Every. Damn. Time. It was too much. Frank could feel his knees weakening, could feel himself being pushed further into the bed. He lowered himself onto his elbows, eventually resting his forehead on a pillow. He would’ve caved completely if Murdock hadn’t wrapped an arm around his waist and held him up. The angle was impossibly good. He wasn’t going to last like this. He reached down with one arm and began to stroke himself, matching the rhythm that Murdock had set. He pumped once, twice, thrice, spilling into his hand on the fourth stroke. Murdock bent over him, one hand latching onto Frank’s shoulder to give him better leverage. Murdock upped his pace, eager to finish himself off. Frank felt Murdock jerk, and then a stillness that seemed to stretch while their bodies were still joined. Briefly, Frank wondered what it would feel like to have Murdock come inside him without the thin sheath of a condom separating them. Barebacking was reckless, but still . . . Frank wondered.

When Murdock pulled out and finally released his grip around Frank’s waist, Frank sank into the softness of Murdock’s bed, not caring that there was a wet spot directly underneath him. 

“You’re a good fuck, Frank,” Murdock said, stretching out beside him. 

Frank laid on his front, turning his head to the left to look at Murdock. “Not bad yourself,” he agreed. 

He saw Murdock’s lips curve into a slow smile. Not the sharp, seductive smile from earlier in the night, but something softer around the edges, more . . . content. Frank dozed off thinking about that smile. Murdock could kick him out of bed later.

* * *

Frank woke to a darkened bedroom. It took him a moment to get his bearings and when he did . . . he surprisingly did not panic. Working backwards, he’d slept with his charge; he’d killed a bunch of undead ninjas; he’d driven to the docks to follow his charge, whom he’d seen swan dive off his bedroom balcony and then Spider-Man his way around the city. Frank wished he could say that it was just another night at the office, but that wouldn’t be true. He could use a drink. He was rolling over onto his back when Murdock re-entered the room, carrying a bottle by the neck in one hand and tumblers in the other. 

“You’re having a drink with me tonight, right?” Murdock said.

Frank noted the distinct lack of a cane, and the way Murdock moved around as though he were a sighted person. Except Murdock wasn’t wearing his usual dark shades either, and Frank could see through the moonlight how his eyes didn’t focus on anything. The kid – and Frank should probably stop thinking of Murdock that way – was really blind. It was jarring seeing Murdock without the glasses. It made him seem naked, and Murdock was, quite literally, naked.

Frank pushed himself into a sitting position. “How’d you even know I was awake?” he asked. That first question opened the floodgates, and Frank couldn’t seem to stop. “How are you moving around without a cane? You’re blind, right? _Are_ you blind? How can a blind person fight the way you do? What the hell was going on at the docks tonight?” 

Murdock poured two fingers into a tumbler, ignoring Frank’s steady stream of questions. He held the glass out. “Drink, first,” he ordered.

Frank shut up and accepted the drink with a dark scowl, one that he knew Murdock couldn’t _see_ , but could probably _sense_ in that freaky way of his. He watched as Murdock poured himself another glass before getting back into bed. 

“Cheers,” he said, leaning over and clinking his glass against Frank’s. He took a sip. 

Frank stared at Murdock for a moment longer before caving and taking a sip as well. _Fuck, that was good_. 

“Better?” Murdock had that infuriating half-smirk again. 

“No,” Frank said, just to spite him.

“Y’know Frank,” Murdock said conversationally. “One of the neat tricks I can do is that I can tell when people are lying.” 

“Yeah? How’s that work?” 

“That’s a long story.” 

“We got all night.” 

“Yes, but . . .” The smile again. “There are other things we can do.” 

“No,” Frank said stubbornly, even though his dick was interested in the possibilities. “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.” 

Murdock sighed theatrically, taking another sip of scotch. “So pushy,” he commented. “Stubborn. I like that about you. So,” he said, balancing his glass on his thigh. “Where do you want to begin story time?” 

“Your . . . blindness.” Frank hesitated. “What makes you so special? How come you can do what you do?”

Murdock shrugged, but there was something derisive in the action. “Sheer dumb luck,” he said. “If you can call it that. When I was a kid, I saved a man. Pushed him out of the way of an oncoming truck. The truck swerved. It didn’t hit me, but the cargo it was carrying got loose. Some kind of chemicals. They got in my eyes and caused the blindness.” 

Frank hadn’t realized that Murdock hadn’t always been blind. He should’ve known though, should’ve done a deeper dive on his charge. But Murdock’s history seemed to begin with Wilson Fisk. There was hardly anything on him before Fisk had adopted him. That part of his history seemed to have been blacked out. 

“Those chemicals took away my sight,” Murdock went on. “But they gave me something else in exchange. Heightened senses. It’s how I can do – as you so eloquently put it – the things that I do. I may be blind, Frank, but in many ways, I can ‘see’ much more than the average person.” 

“No shit,” Frank muttered. The heightened senses intrigued him, but he was more curious about other things. “And the fighting?” he prodded. 

“All part of the same story,” Murdock replied. “My senses weren’t as strong as they are now. They’ve grown stronger over time, and I’ve learned how to use them better too. But when I was just a blind kid, they were overwhelming. I didn’t know how to deal with them, and my dad – my _real_ dad – couldn’t help me. Nobody could. Until one day, I met a man called Stick.”

“The old guy at the docks,” Frank supplied. 

Murdock nodded. “Stick said I was special and that he would train me. He’d teach me how to how use my senses, teach me how to defend myself, teach me how to fight. I wasn’t going to be that blind, helpless kid ever again.” 

“Did a good job then,” Frank commented. 

“Well, Stick didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart. I learned the hard way that he’s not the altruistic sort.”

Murdock’s tone had shifted again. There was a hint of anger now . . . and sadness. Frank remembered the angry conversation at the docks. He’d witnessed the end of something, the end of a long, complicated relationship. 

“Stick’s a member of a secret organization.” Murdock shook his head. “He was training me to join that organization, to fight for their cause, be part of their army. And I might’ve joined him too, if he’d been upfront with me, if things had been different.” 

“What happened?”

“You ever reach a crossroads in your life, Frank? That moment when you know with absolute certainty that the decision you make will change your life forever?” 

Frank thought about his family and how he’d chosen the marines over them. He wasn’t sure if it qualified as the crossroads that Murdock was talking about, but it seemed close. 

“What was that crossroads for you?” he asked. 

“My father’s death. He was a boxer, and a part-time enforcer in Hell’s Kitchen. Battlin’ Jack Murdock. Battlin’ Jack was paid to throw a fight.” Murdock shook his head again, taking another sip of scotch. “But he couldn’t do it. Not with his boy sitting in the front row, not with the pride he had. So, he was killed for it. Shot and left in the alley like he was garbage on the street.” 

Another sip, a longer one.

“See, I knew the men who had done it. It was the Fixer and his crew. And Stick had given me the skills to do something about it. But then, Wilson Fisk entered my life. I’m not sure how he found out about me or why I was even on his radar. But I knew who Wilson Fisk was. Everybody did. He made me an offer. Wilson knew that I wanted to study law. My dad didn’t want me to be like him, didn’t want me to use my fists. He made me promise to hit nothing but books.” 

“Wouldn’t have looked too fondly on Stick then,” Frank said quietly, sipping his own scotch.

“My dad didn’t know anything about Stick, didn’t know about any of the things I could do,” Murdock confessed. “But I wanted to make him proud. I wanted to go to law school.” His voice hardened. “But I also wanted vengeance. I wasn’t going to let those men get away with what they’d done. Wilson said that I could go after those men myself – he knew about my skills – but then what would happen to law school? So, he offered to take care of those men for me _and_ pay for my schooling. In exchange . . .” Murdock trailed off, a sardonic smile on his face. “Well, I think you know the rest of the story.” 

“What happened to Stick?”

“We parted ways after that. I chose Wilson Fisk over his army and his cause. I don’t think he ever forgave me for that.” Murdock finished his scotch and put his glass on the bedside table. “I was wrong about Stick. Old bastard played the long con.” 

“Whaddya mean?” 

“Elektra Natchios. Turns out she was recruited by Stick, too. Trained by him. She’s part of his organization; she believes in his cause. Stick sent Elektra to New York to recruit me.”

Fuck. That was messed up. 

“The organization that Stick and Elektra fight against is called The Hand,” Murdock went on. “You encountered some of their members tonight, those ‘undead ninjas.’ Elektra says that The Hand has infiltrated her father’s company, that some of Wilson’s ‘business partners’ are Hand members.” Murdock paused. “That’s probably true,” he admitted. “The Hand are everywhere, but they work in the shadows. Elektra says I’m already part of the war, whether I want to be or not. It’s just a matter of choosing a side.” 

Frank nodded thoughtfully. He was thinking about Murdock’s heated argument at the docks in his defense. “Thought you cut ties with the old man tonight,” he pointed out. 

“I did.” 

“But you still helped him.” 

Murdock chuckled humorlessly. “Because Stick’s a manipulative old bastard who knows how to push my buttons,” he replied. 

Frank nodded again. “So, what happens now?” 

Murdock leaned over and took Frank’s empty glass, placing it on the bedside table next to his. “Now,” he said suggestively. “You wanna fuck me?” 

Frank shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Not interested?” 

In response, Frank rolled over, pinning Murdock down with his larger bulk. He bracketed Murdock’s face with his hands. “Kissing off limits?” he asked. 

“Doesn’t have to be.” 

“And this . . . thing between us,” Frank went on. “Fucking your head of security as a rebound? It’s a little cliché.”

Murdock laughed, his right hand running up and down Frank’s broad arm. “Sure,” he admitted. “Maybe I thought of you as a rebound at the start. But give yourself a little credit, Frank. I just told you my life story, my _real_ life story. How many people do you think know that?” 

“But why me?” 

“Because you saw me jump off a high-rise building and didn’t panic. Because you figured out where I was going and followed me to the docks, even if you didn’t know what you were getting into. Because you’re loyal and know how to keep a secret.” 

“That’s what this is then? You want me to keep your secret?” 

Murdock leaned forward and nipped Frank’s jaw. “Because you’re a good lay,” he added. “Because I like you.” He laughed again before growing serious. “One day, Wilson’s empire will be mine. Maybe I’ll take on The Hand, maybe I won’t. Maybe you’ll be there with me, maybe you won’t. But our paths have crossed now and we should make the most of it.” 

“Fatalistic, aren’t you?” 

“No,” Murdock answered. “But I can recognize a crossroads when I reach one.” 

**Fin.**


End file.
